The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “What the?” I lean in further to get a better look. “It’s not a head.” My voice warbles.

  “Is it a foot?”

  “No, it’s—it’s just weird.” God, why didn’t I pay better attention when my mother was giving a detailed play-by-play of Misty’s birth?

  Chloe bears down again, and the plastic-looking membrane pushes farther out.

  “It’s—a pod.” I back away a few inches. “This isn’t the part where you confess to being an alien, is it?” Dear God, what if this is the way baby Fems are born? In pods! Only to hatch at a later time! Shit. Now I’m going to be forced to have a home birth whether I like it or not. An image of my mother and that fishnet she used to catch any unwanted “guests” from that kiddie pool she crouched in for hours pops up. I will not be taking a surprise crap in a kiddie pool during labor. That’s where I put my swollen foot down. Demetri may have gotten me with that whole your husband is a Fem thing, but my babies are coming into this world in a sterile, cold, surgical environment filled with strangers, not in the loving comfort of my own living room with my mother and a shit net.

  “It’s not a pod. I think it’s the sac,” she grunts hard into her words.

  “You’re having the sac? I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to have the sac, Chloe. Your baby isn’t done cooking. Can’t you shove it back inside?”

  “NO! Break the stupid bag, and the fluid will gush out, and then you can yank the damn thing out of me!”

  “What the hell am I supposed to break the sac with?”

  “Chew it open with your teeth! I really don’t give a flying fuck! Rip it open with those claws of yours! Hell, you can use your toenails. I really do not care.” Her voice cuts through the night, hostile and about as welcome as a broken mirror.

  Chloe screams and pushes, and sure enough, more of the sac protrudes like a stubborn water balloon that just won’t break.

  “Shit,” I hiss in anger, rubbing my hands raw over my cape in a weak attempt to sanitize them. Chloe bears down again, evicting the sac out farther, and the pressure builds as the fluid bottlenecks at the top. I reach down and touch it, retracting just as quickly. It’s wet and slippery and feels slightly like every jellyfish I wish I had never touched. I land my fingers to it again, and it bursts onto me, leaving a gush of warm fluid running over my hands. “Well played, Bishop—well played,” I say, holding up my glossy hands a moment.

  Chloe screams, loud and viral, drilling her agony well into tomorrow. I reach down between her legs as a warm head emerges. Tiny shoulders pop out, and I slip my fingers around them, pulling the poor innocent baby straight out of its mother.

  “Oh my God!” I hold it up to the moonlight. Dark hair, pale skin, and the cutest tiny toosh. “It’s a girl!” My heart vibrates right into my skull. “She’s not crying. What should I do? Should I spank her?”

  Chloe lunges forward and snatches her from me. She swoops her face toward the infant’s tiny head, and OH MY GOD! SHE’S EATING HER YOUNG!

  Chloe turns her head and spits. “Spank her. I cleared her airways.”

  I take the baby back as she slips and flops into my hands and give a swift swat to her bottom. The tiny being gives the hearty cry of a lamb before taking in a lungful of air and giving the lusty cry of a newborn—piercing through the night with a battle cry that rivals anything her mother gave just a moment ago.

  “Hello, baby girl.” I pull her toward me, warming her in my cape, supporting her flaccid neck in the crook of my arm. The top of her head is covered with a dark cap of hair. Her tiny eyes are dark and glossy as she gives a curious glance to her new surroundings. Little tiny dimples go off on either side of her cheeks, and, for a brief second, I see Gage in her beautiful face and wonder if this is what the daughter we lost would have looked like at birth. “What’s her name?” I coo sweetly into the baby’s tiny face, and her lids flutter.

  “I don’t have a name.” Chloe falls back onto her elbows and sighs. “What about Chloe?”

  “No,” I flatline. “Try again.”

  “Fine—then, Bishop.”

  “Again no.” My head ticks back in awe of her poor choices.

  “Then Brody. He’s my hero, and I think it’s a great honor.”

  “How about no again, and you hold off on the Brody thing until you have a son.”

  “Okay.” She closes her eyes shut with a squeeze. “How about a combination of Brody and Bishop? Bishop.”

  “How about we chalk this conversation up to delirium, and you think of a name in the morning?”

  “I couldn’t care less what its name is. Give her to Wes. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

  The baby’s lips quiver as she starts in on another tiny cry, so sweet and fragile it makes my heart ache. “It’s okay, I promise. You made it just fine.” I give a little laugh before looking back to Chloe. “I’m impressed you knew to clear her airways. This is probably the only time your sucking face maneuvers benefited anyone.” I give a lopsided smile at my stab at humor. Chloe and I have just experienced something monumental, and for a brief window of time, a very very brief window that is quickly closing, this moment we share feels pure and right. “Here. Take your precious baby girl. She really is beautiful.” I lean in to hand her the baby, and Chloe waves us both off.

  “I’ve done my part. She has a father.”

  “Chloe, you can’t be that cold. She needs you. She needs you to love her, and more to the point, to feed her.”

  “Get away from me with that thing!” she shrieks in my face, and the baby jumps and startles in my arms. “I said go find her father!” Chloe sobs between words, and as much as I want to see her as a monster, the only thing I feel is sorry for her.

  “Have it your way. It’s probably just hormones,” I say to the tiny being squirming in my arms as I begin the long trek back to the party. I give one last glance back at Chloe as the moon sheds its light over her like a silent silver teardrop. Her head is bent, her chest bucks with grief. Doesn’t she know that the one thing that can make it all better is lying here swaddled in my cape? I’m disappointed in Chloe. For as much as she’s obsessed over Gage through the years, she gave the impression that she knew what love was, what it could be, and here I have a slice of love in my arms, and she doesn’t want a thing to do with it.

  The party comes up too quickly, and I tuck the tiny being close to my body, my own belly blaring like a beacon. It’s as if the closer Chloe’s baby gets to my own children, the more obnoxiously my belly illuminates. Soon, I’ll qualify as a bona fide searchlight.

  The crowd comes into focus as Emily and Nat hang out with Ethan and Nat’s new boy toy. I find Laken and Coop, and I don’t dare go in that direction. I spot my mother and Tad, and just as I’m about to take the baby to her—she might as well be a registered safe haven for baby drops-offs—I spot Gage and Wes hanging out with Logan near the fountain full of fake blood and bobbing severed heads, each one with a grisly painted clown smile. My mother really does hate me. So, of course, I head off to Baby Girl’s father.

  “Trick or treat,” I say, handing the sweet princess off to Wes, cape and all.

  “What’s this?”

  “More like who. You’ll have to think of a name, all of Chloe’s ideas were lousy. But aren’t they always?”

  Wesley’s face turns white as a sheet, so deathly pale that for a moment I think it’s a part of his costume, but he isn’t wearing one. Wesley is simply flat-out afraid.

  “Help me, Skyla. I can’t do this. I can’t do any of this, and she needs a name.”

  “You must have a name in your heart you’ve been thinking of. It’s been nine long months, Wesley.”

  “Laken,” he exhales into her with a look of relief as the color comes back into his cheeks.

  “No! Absolutely not. You can’t name her Laken. You’re about as useless as Chloe. Must I do everything?”

  Gage wraps his arms around my waist, marveling at the tiny being. “She’s amazing.”

  “Where
’s Chloe?” Logan asks.

  “In the woods. Can you call for an ambulance? And get my mom. She needs to go to her.”

  His dimple digs in without the hint of a scowl. “Sure thing.” He steps away with his phone in hand. Logan really is a prince among men. Not too many people would go out of their way help ensure their killer received proper medical attention after a bodily trauma.

  “Any ideas?” Wesley asks, his gaze never leaving the face of that precious little angel.

  “I don’t know. Some people name their girls after the month they’re born in. How about October?”

  “You can call her Tobie for short,” Gage offers.

  “October,” Wes sighs with relief. “Hello, Tobie. You’re so sweet and beautiful.” He sniffs back tears. “I already love you so very much.”

  “You should probably get her checked out,” Gage says it tenderly as if we were talking Wes off a ledge. “Get her warm and fed.”

  “I will. I have a doctor on standby in the Transfer. I need to get her out of here.” His eyes meet with mine as they pool with joyous tears. “Thank you, Skyla. I won’t forget this.”

  He takes off into the crowded midway set up in Marshall’s palatial yard and disintegrates to nothing right in thick of it all. Appearing where he stood just a moment ago are a stymied Killion and Moser. Their gaping astonishment quickly transfers from that empty space to my shining star of a belly.

  “Great,” I whisper. “Now they’re never going to leave.”

  “We may not want them to.”

  “What?” I look at Gage in his partial costume, the mask of a wolf dangling from his hand.

  “I think I’ve thought of a way to turn Wesley’s game around and have it bite him in the ass. I don’t think the Nephilim people are in any real danger, at least not those outside of the Barricade.”

  “I like how you’re thinking.”

  “It’s not how I’m thinking. It’s what Wesley’s done.”

  The thought of Wes nailing himself inside his own coffin pleases me.

  But my heart wrenches for that poor little girl who dropped into the world tonight.

  Some kids hit the parent jackpot, and some kids simply don’t.

  The Heartbreak of Revelation

  GAGE

  Dudley’s zombie clown-fest continues without a hiccup even after the ambulance arrives and tries to whisk Chloe away—tries being the operative word. Chloe throws one of her classic tantrums and threatens to sue anyone who looks at her sideways, so the ambulance takes off empty as Chloe’s heart.

  “My God, where’s the baby?” Lizbeth shrieks. Even with all of the hysterics, the partygoers are far too enthralled in the haunted midway, the bloody cotton candy, and deep-fried fingers-on-a-stick to care.

  “In the Transfer with her daddy,” Skyla says through clenched teeth. My eyes ride up and down my beautiful wife’s attire, and I can hardly wait to sink my big bad teeth into her later tonight. There’s just something about Skyla in that dress that gets my engine going. Skyla always seems to get my engine going.

  Lizbeth covers her mouth and nods as if realizing the gravity of the situation. “I’d better find Demetri. He’s a grandfather now.” She fans herself as if overcome with emotion herself. “Is there a way I can escort Chloe there? I’m sure she wants to reunite with the baby as soon as possible.”

  Skyla gives me a nervous glance.

  “I’d better take care of this.” She heads off with her mother.

  It seems the more Lizbeth becomes entangled with Demetri, the more she delves into the dark chambers of the Nephilim world. Speaking of which, Wesley is a father now. I guess that makes me an uncle. It sickens me to think how Chloe, Wes, and Demetri are going to brainwash my poor little niece. She has a trifecta of wickedness working against her. Skyla and I might be the only light in her life. I’m not sure why I feel a sudden familial duty toward her, but I do. She’s something good in this membrane of evil we’re embroiled in. I’m hoping she’ll take Wesley’s mind off the fact his Immunity League has a dropout rate higher than West Paragon High these days. He hasn’t added a single person to his trusty dream team, and it’s no wonder. Emily’s brother and the Videns flash through my mind. Wes says he’s not doing anything with them, but Em begs to differ. It makes me wonder if Wesley has found a loophole in that blood covenant. If he’s up to no good, I damn well better know about it.

  Logan catches my eye as he heads over.

  Speaking of dark chambers, I should probably have a talk with him. Let him know the terms of Demetri’s deal—become the enemy and live. Me—a fire-breathing dragon for decades to come right here in Skyla’s face. I’m sure that will go over well. Or I can simply die and give Skyla and the kids a headstone to visit. I tried walking on the wicked side once before, and it didn’t work for me—not too sure it can ever work. From afar, Skyla’s belly glows a faint blue hue right through her dress, and my heart wrenches. Those babies, our babies, didn’t ask to be here, to have Fem DNA infused into their destinies. They didn’t ask to have a father who leaves the planet early. They didn’t ask for any of it, but they’re getting it all, and then some. How could I ever think of leaving them to navigate it all on their own? They’ll have Skyla, but, in truth, it feels as if I’m leaving her, too. They’d have Logan—sooner than later. He’d swoop in quickly. He proved that a few months ago.

  “You ready to roll?” Logan offers a firm pat to my shoulder. He’s wearing his practice jersey from West, and my gut pinches for those golden sentimental days.

  “Skyla’s wrapping things up with her mom.” I take a quick look around, and the party is still hopping. “Hey, there’s something I want to run by you when we get a chance.”

  “We’ve got a chance right now.” He ushers us out to a darkened area of the corral. “What’s up?”

  “I’m up.” I tap my chest and stifle a laugh. “We never did finish that conversation about my last birthday wish.”

  “The one that cost me a body?” Logan isn’t impressed with my tactics, but I think deep down he knows how desperate I was. “It’s time to drink the Kool-Aid or quit. I have a decision to make, and I’m not sure how to do it. You’ve got a pretty good head on your shoulders. I thought maybe you can help me do it.”

  “I don’t have a head. Chloe arranged for that. What are you talking about? What Kool-Aid? What’s Demetri up to now?”

  “He wants to ante up, and I’m not too sure about where this might lead. Hell, I know I’m not.”

  “You finally read the fine print.” He gives a knowing nod.

  “You never get waylaid by bullshit, do you?” I run my hands over my face hard as if trying to wake myself from a bittersweet dream. “What I mean is, you wouldn’t have found yourself in this shithole of a deal—with a devil hoping to fill my father’s shoes no less.”

  “No. I would have gotten myself killed and locked in a Treble, only to watch some other dude fuck the woman I love.” Logan tries to laugh it off, but it comes out depleted and worn, much like his soul these days.

  “I get it.” I wipe the sleep from my eyes once again. “I’m being a pussy. I’ve got the good end of the stick, and believe me, I know it. But it all feels like it’s slipping by too quickly. As much as it sucks for you, I don’t want to miss out on a life with Skyla and the kids. She loves me. It’s real. I don’t feel like a replacement or second best. Maybe I should, but I don’t. I buy what she’s selling, lock, stock, and barrel. And with those kids…” I blow a breath out to the stars and watch as the fog swirls above my head. “Dude, who the hell is going to protect them from Demetri? He’s determined to make them his new pet project. I know you’d be here for them, but Demetri will go around you in a hotter-than-hell-fire minute. You won’t even know he’s pulling the wool over your eyes. He’ll have them eating out of his paw.” I swallow down the stone forming in my throat.

  “You need to be here. I’ll be the first to advocate that,” he says it soft, careful, as if walking on eggshells. “H
onestly, I’ll be the second to advocate that because Skyla is the first. She’s been championing your cause since the moment the Faction War ended. As soon as she heard your life was in peril, she wanted to stop anything bad from happening to you. She is in love with you. She’s loved you from the beginning. You’re her everything, and, to be honest, if something did happen to you—things wouldn’t be the same with Skyla and me. Her need for you is enormous. You would leave a hole in her heart so big that nobody, certainly not me, could fill it.”

  My own heart pounds like the surf just listening to him talk that way. Tears come, and I choke up, unable to say a single word.

  “So, what’s the fine print?” he whispers as if not wanting to alert any unwanted entities.

  “If I want to linger on this planet, I go the full Monty. I’m a Fem of the highest order, taking orders, giving them. I don’t say shit to Skyla.”

  His chest bucks. “So, that’s what this was about. The reason he has you tied to Wesley’s hip—you relaying whatever you wish from the enemy lines right into Skyla’s ear at bedtime was simply a primer. He knows you’re working for Skyla, and he wants to gain your trust. He wanted you to see the inner workings of his twisted mind, that of his son—Wesley—so that there aren’t any big surprises.”

  “Only this time I keep my mouth shut. I’m not allowed to take my work home with me, or my heart shuts down, literally. This time I play by his rules. If I want to stick around—I’m his bitch, Logan. I have to commit. I have to reprogram my mind to work against my own people and pledge over to the dark side.”

  “Like your brother.” His gaze drops to the ground.

  Logan is the only brother I’ll ever acknowledge in my heart.

  “Like Wes.”

  “Only you’ll have Skyla.” He tosses up his hands. “You get to kiss her first thing in the morning and last thing at night. You’ll have two beautiful kids to raise. Skyla can teach them right from wrong. All you’ll have to do is keep your mouth shut.”